


What Some Call Madness

by TimmyJaybird



Series: Carnival [6]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gone, the Joker was still gone. Bruce felt his absence every moment, in the calm of the city, in the lose of soft curls that tickled his skin. And when someone appears at his office with no warning, he can believe the man is dead- yet not all too forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Some Call Madness

Fingers drummed on his desk as Bruce stared at the sprawled papers on his desk. His head was pounding, he’d spent the entire day in one long, miserable board meeting, and still he had paperwork and proposals to look over. He sensed a long, long night.

Outside dusk had settled, a beautiful array of oranges and pinks in the sky, creeping over a snowy, quiet Gotham. The snow was fresh from that morning, crisp and white and fluffy. Bruce had been right back in November, they were in for a long cold winter. It hadn’t let up since then, and now, a week into January, he was sure there was another good two months of cold and snow ahead of him.

He was scribbling notes on a paper when there was a _rap_ at his door. A moment later it cracked open, and a young man popped his head in. Someone that worked at the front desks, but at the moment Bruce couldn’t place his name.

“Mister Wayne,” he peeped, sounding meek. “There’s....there’s someone here to see you.”

“I said absolutely no intrusions,” Bruce pointed out, barely having looked up from his papers.

“I know, but he-“

“Didn’t listen.” Bruce froze when he heard the voice, sing-song and melodic and slightly grating in just the _right_ way. The door opened more as someone stepped in, before it was closed. Bruce heard the lock click, and he dared to look up, holding his breath.

For a moment the man could have been a stranger. He wore large sunglasses despite the setting sun, hands tucked into pockets of jeans, long blonde curls falling over his shoulders. But Bruce could see what those curls tried to hide, what someone might miss on a quick glance-

The scars along those cheeks, the permanent smile.

He didn’t move, waited for the Joker to first. A moment, a breath, two, and he took a step closer, taking the sunglasses off. His usual face paint was absent- his lips were still painted red though, his eyes lined and shadowed in coal. It gave him a very androgynous look- as if in any moment he could choose his gender and anyone would believe him.

Bruce saw the genius in it.

“Miss me?” he asked, and Bruce wanted to reach out and wrap his hands around that pale neck, shake him, throw him to the wall, bash the back of his skull into it. He’d been terrified, even after that one playing card- he’d wanted him, needed him, yet he was elusive. And now, here he was, just showing up on his doorstep.

Well, office step, more precisely.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked, and the Joker crossed the room, dropping the sunglasses on the desk. He was wearing a black sweater, a purple button down peeking out from the collar and hem. Bruce’s sweater.

“I thought I might just drop in, say hello to my Batsy.” He leaned a hip against the desk, folding his arms. Bruce frowned.

“You’ve been missing for over a month,” he said, “you could have been dead for all I knew.”

“Ah, but I _wasn’t_! You underestimate me, dar-ling. And I sent you that card. You did get it, didn’t you?” Bruce stood up, glaring.

“Yes, but-“

“Besides, Bats, would you expect anything, ah, less of me? After that mess with Crane, this was not the place I wanted to be.” Bruce reached out, meant to grab him by the collar, to hoist him up in anger-

But his hands fisted in those curls, and he pulled the Joker close, mouths crashing together. Bruce felt fireworks in his veins in that moment, fire in his gut and his fingertips. His other arm wrapped around the man, holding him close, holding on for dear life. The blonde responded with eagerness, arms around Bruce’s neck, pressing their bodies flush together. His hips gyrated against Bruce’s- without thought, without command- and Bruce lifted him up, setting him down on the desk, a few papers falling to the ground.

“I want to hurt you,” Bruce said against his mouth. The Joker smiled, coy and playful and just perfect.

“You’re doing an awful job.” He giggled and Bruce kissed him again, tongue slipping into that painted mouth, teasing the scars inside.

“I want to,” he murmured, “but I can’t.” The Joker hooked a leg around him, tangled it with Bruce’s. “I was worried about you, you know.”

“Mmmm, really now?” The Joker licked his red lips, the lipstick not having smudged yet. It was nice for Bruce to not have paint all over his face yet.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Bruce asked, hands sinking into the Joker’s hair again. “I like this.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, frowning. “It was just, ah, _easier_ to get in looking a bit _bland_.” Bruce chuckled.

“Bland?” he asked, kissing the Joker’s forehead. “You look gorgeous?”

“OhohOH, gorgeous, Brucie baby? Well, someone really _is_ the smooth playboy.” His fingers were toying with the buttons of Bruce’s shirt, running up and down his chest. Bruce felt his chest caving in, the rage in him dying. It was hard to be mad at the man, now that he was back in his presences. Madness, it was contagious, he knew for sure.

“I have to ask,” Bruce said, “though I don’t think I want the answer. How long... how long were you planning on giving me to Crane?”

The Joker sucked on his lower lip for a second, before his hands settled down on Bruce’s belt, touching leather, stroking smooth metal.

“Would you believe the truth, I wonder, Bats,” the Joker said. “It’d be easier to lie. The whole time, then, this was all just a farce, I never wanted you to fuc-“

He was cut off when Bruce kissed him again, one of the playboy’s hands forcing it’s way under his sweater and shirt, teasing the skin of his stomach. His other hand stroked along one exposed scar, and the Joker trembled suddenly.

“I’ll believe anything you say,” he admitted against those lips, and the Joker was undoing his belt, before one arm was around his shoulders, clinging to Bruce’s jacket.

“Not until the end,” he breathed, as Bruce’s lips traveled his jaw line, his tongue tracing along those pale puckered seams. “Only when I knew it was the-Ah,” he lost his breath, Bruce’s mouth on his neck, teeth digging in, mouth sucking and bruising deliciously. “Knew it was the best way.” He clung closer, felt Bruce’s hand on the crotch of his jeans, hated the damn fabric because he couldn’t feel him like he wanted. It was hell to try and blend in.

“Did you want me?” Bruce was asking, and the Joker didn’t even breathe before he whispered,

“I still do.”

Bruce lost himself then. Or maybe he found himself. He pushed the man down onto his back, one hand opening those jeans, the other stroking hair and scars and lips and bones, until Bruce had the Joker’s manhood free, until he was stroking it. He arched, he mewled, he nearly purred as Bruce touched him expertly, making him quake and tumble towards the edge so fast.

Bruce leaned over, kissed a spot of exposed skin on his stomach, before he had his mouth around the Joker’s cock, wet heat and slick warmth and heaven and hell, turmoil that coiled in the Joker’s stomach as the back of his head banged on the desk.

Bruce had never touched him like this, and the Joker lost himself to the surprise, the bliss. A few flicks of the tongue, and he was gone, crying and keening and whimpering, a mess of nerves, a puddle of a man, as Bruce drank him down. He struggled to breathe as the playboy pulled him up, kissed him- tasted bitter and divine and vile and so devious.

“Don’t leave again,” Bruce was saying, struggling to rip his jacket off, throwing it to the floor, his shirt following. The Joker pressed to him, teased his neck, shivered at the thoughts of what his Bats was going to do to him.

“And how would you have me do that?” the Joker asked, leaning back long enough to pull his sweater and shirt off, tossing them. His hands worked Bruce’s pants open, happy he had already tackled the belt earlier. His fingers were shaking.

“I don’t know,” Bruce mused, half thinking, mostly feeling. Hands along sides, over lean muscle under skin, less bone. The Joker wasn’t as thin as he had been last time. The muscle was returning. He gripped the Joker’s jeans, his underwear, and pulled them down, the lithe man arching for him. It took Bruce a second to get his shoes out of the way, but then he was naked, draped across his desk as if this was some pornographic dream. Bruce grinned.

“What? Would I come, ah, live with _you_ , Batsy baby?” He watched Bruce wet his fingers, felt them slip between his thighs, and tipped his head back as one entered him, another joining a moment later, sliding slowly in and out of that tight ring of muscles. He bit his lip, felt them curl up and he let a surprised cry of pleasure escape.

Bruce let his eyes leave the man’s face just long enough to watch his half hard cock twitch. The fact that he still had the power to excite the Joker, bring him from one orgasm to the doorway of another, made him hot, his skin magma, his blood pure fire.

“Maybe,” Bruce said, eyes back on that face as he curled his fingers again. The Joker purred, expecting it, pushed himself up on his elbows and let his eyes explore Bruce, licking his lips. Bruce withdrew his fingers, fumbled with his own clothing with trembling hands, while the Joker slid off the desk, dropped to his knees and took Bruce in his mouth just as his cock sprung free. Bruce tipped his head back, felt those scarred hands guiding his clothing down, before the Joker released him, stood up-

And, Bruce’s sanity be damned, turned around and leaned over the desk. He looked back at him with dancing green eyes, a silent dare on his lips, and Bruce was holding his hips, driving into his ass with such need he could bruise. He leaned over the man, one arm locking around him to pull him up so his back pressed to Bruce’s chest. The playboy rocked his hips and made the Joker cry out- fully hard now and aching.

Bruce kissed at his shoulder, nipped the skin, his other arm encircling him, hand grasping his cock and stroking. The Joker tipped his head back, painted lips parted in shallow, rapid breaths. His body ached from the contortions, and it only added to Bruce’s every thrust. He trembled and groaned, before he turned his head and Bruce’s mouth connected with one line of scars.

He exploded in that moment, a string of variations of “Batman” and “Bruce” falling from his lips. Bruce let himself go when he felt his body hold him, closing his eyes and letting everything stream from his body into the Joker, the trembling mass of nerves still rocking against him so sweetly.

Bruce held him as long as his body allowed- until his legs felt like jelly and he had to release him, to grip the desk for support. The Joker leaned over it, panting, before looking back through a tangle of blonde curls.

“If that’s your argument for me staying, you’re quite, ah, con-vinc-ing.” He turned over, and Bruce let his eyes wonder over his body, the stains of white on his milky skin. He leaned over, down, let his tongue trace up his stomach, and the man shivered. “Mmm, Bats, you’re just so _dirt-yyyy_ today. What’s gotten into you?” Bruce straightened up, watched as those eys flashed a dangerous desire. “I was hoping it’d be _me_.”

Bruce’s cheeks tinged, and the Joker laughed. The laughter dissolved into a fit of giggles, and he was still giggling as he began hunting around for his clothing. Bruce was quicker, half dressed when the clown was still fumbling with his jeans, his laughter turning to curses.

“They’re just pants,” Bruce mused, and the Joker glared at it, finally getting them mostly up his hips.

“Unstylish pants, truly. There’s no _finesse_.” He tossed his shirt on, buttoning it quickly- but took his time with the sweater, as if he was afraid of tearing it.

Bruce settled back down into his chair, shrugging a shoulder. “I don’t know. They do wonders for your ass.” The Joker’s head snapped back at that, staring at him, and the playboy winked. Grinning, the madman laughed, sauntering over and sitting on the desk in front of him. Bruce reached out, rested a hand on his thigh, let his thumb stroke the tight fabric.

“I was being serious,” he said as the Joker fussed with his curls. “Don’t leave. Stay with me.” He rolled the chair closed, his other hand on the desk, fingers itching to be stroking at the man’s hip. “I was frantic without you. I looked everywhere- I tore apart that closet you’d taken up. Where were you?”

A slender shoulder shrugged. “Here, there, everywhere, Brucie. Moving and sleeping and moving again. I don’t remember much the first few days, Ivy had me, ah, on some good stuff because of _this_.” He reached up, tapped at his shoulder. Bruce could imagine a new scar beneath, and wished he’d thought to really look when he had the man naked.

“She was with you?”

“Only until I could tell up from down,” the Joker said. “Then she was off with that... _thing_.” Bruce knew he meant the Riddler.

“Will he-“

“Ever be cured of Crane’s medical madness? Yes, I’m sure someday. He seemed to be coming down from quite the _high_ when I went my own way.”

“Where-“

“Ah ah ah,” he wagged his finger. “Sorry Bats, I’m not saying a word more on those two. I won’t send them back to that lovely hell you all call an _asylum_.”

“Arkahm is being restored,” Bruce said, “they won’t ever again let madmen run that place. I’ve made sure of it.”

“Oh, have you? Well now, I can rest easily in a little cold cell, knowing the _Big Bad Bat_ has taken care of all my worries!” He grinned, tried to look as if he was swooning, before his mouth fell in a frown. “That place will _never_ be restored, _never_ be free of madness. And I’m ah, not crazy, Bats. Really.” He leaned forward. “So you don’t have to send me back there.”

“I don’t want to,” Bruce said, reaching up, catching his chin. “I don’t want to send you anywhere- except maybe up to my penthouse, before I violate my office anymore.” The Joker chuckled.

“I can imagine being found with me, of all people, would be a little, ah, _damaging_.”

“As far as anyone is concerned, I’ve got a pretty man in my office- that’s all.”

“You think they wouldn’t recognize-“

“No.” Bruce gripped his thigh. “They wouldn’t- because I barely do. This isn’t the Joker who has tormented my city for years. You’re someone different.”

The clown was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was quiet, almost unsure- not like him.

“Who else would I be, Bruce?” No giggles, no nicknames. Bruce tried to remember to breath.

“A man,” he said, “Not a monster, not a madman, just a man. Jack.” The name felt like fire, like a threat, like it might tear Bruce in two. The Joker’s eyes flashed a maelstrom of emotions, but his breath was shaky. The fact that Bruce’s neck was slit was a good sign, he assumed. “I don’t see paint or green hair or your tacky suit,” he pointed out, trying to get him to smile. “I don’t see anything I’d associate with the Joker.”

“The scars-“

“We all have them.” He reached up, stroked one with his thumb. “And I quite like yours.” He closed the space, kissed him softly, and the Joker dissolved into him, wrapped his arms around him and clung and shook and became and ended all in half a breath. Undone, he sank his fingers into fabric and hoped to breath on the other side.

“Come home with me,” Bruce whispered again, “and let me show you.”

And after years of the endless game, the dance of blood and bruises and a spiraling laugh, frantic touches played off as mental toying, it was over. The game had changed, the Joker changed it with a kiss- and Bruce changed it again, warped it beyond recognition. He brought his heart to the table, and the man before him crumbled, fall and was lost. The Joker died- he lived in a memory, in scars and green eyes and hair that would one day soon be green as summer grass again.

But in that moment, he died, and a man named Jack was reborn. A man Bruce intended to know, to love, to keep. No matter what he had to do, what rules he had to break, what darkness he had to crush and embrace and cut and fuck. A man he took home that night, for the first, but never the last time. A man he chose, beyond justice, beyond what he fought for.

Because, for once, Bruce felt calm, placid, warm in those dancing, green eyes. What some might call madness, he was content to call love.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted this series to end on a smutty, gushy feeling note. Not too long, not really meant to further any plot, really just some porn and some final thoughts. Thanks for reading the series!


End file.
